Page 22 of Who's Loving You
“Oh, sorry. What did you need?”
“I asked if you would like to grab some breakfast. I always need a mad amount of protein afterwards. There’s this place, Clen, that I love.” He throws the towel over his shoulder and grabs his t-shirt along with his now empty water jug.
I look down at my sweaty, sticky body, and imagine my face and hair don’t look much better.
“Um, not today. I’m a sweaty mess and I don’t thinkyou want to wait an hour for me to shower and get dressed.”
Nico’s eyes travel up and down my body then back again, a simmering look in them that makes me self-conscience.
“You look absolutely fine to me. In fact, I’d say you’re perfect. Splash some water on your face and let’s go. Or…I can join you in the shower.” He waggles his eyebrows and I hide the way my body incinerates by smacking his chest.
Wrong move!
He grabs my hand and smacks his on top. “Great workout. Break on me, break on three. One, two, three…”
Nico stares at me, his words hanging in the air, waiting for me to pick them up.
“Uuh, what are you doing?”
“Waiting for you. Let’s try again. Break on me, break on–”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then say it.” His bright white teeth shine under the fluorescent lights, and his eyes are filled with anticipation.
My eyes move between our hands and his face. Hands, face. Hands, handsome face. Hands, chiseled chest. Hands, rock hard abs. Hands, tented shorts.
“Break,” I say quickly, and drop my hand before scurrying off to the locker room.
I stick my face under the cold, running water but it’s still not enough to cool me down. This boy has me out of my wits, and I do not like feeling off my game.
I grab the oversized shirt I placed into the locker before my workout, and use the spray deodorant to mask whatever odor may be wafting off of me. My hair is amess, my cheeks burn red, and my body is coated with rapidly drying sweat. I look like I stepped off the hot mess express but when I step out of the locker room, he stares at me like I’m a lingerie model. And he doesn’t stop all through breakfast.
The tingle in my belly shoots to my nipples and I give myself a strict timeline on fixing this problem and filing him away, never to be touched again.
I need to get as far away from this man as I can, andquickly.
Chachi’s is jam-packed with patrons, all consuming their famous margaritas and delicious food.
I walk up to the hostess stand and spot Lucy before I can even open my mouth. The curvy blonde prances my way, her excitement to see me very apparent. Mind you, I saw her six days ago, but that obviously was too long ago.
My friend, Lucy Summers, is the most amazing woman I know. When I first arrived in Houston, I knew no one but the PR company that hired me. I’d done all of my interviews telecommute. I spoke with endless people in upper management, but I never met or spoke to anyone else in the company. So I was clueless about what living in Texas on my own would really be like.
It was lonely, at first, but I wouldn’t dare tell myparents. Mamá would’ve been at my door with a moving truck and a gallon of arroz con leché, ready to move me back to California. Then one day, a month into my new residency, I stepped into a jewelry store to buy myself the first of many celebratory items, and came face to face with an over-enthusiastic sales girl.
“Shut up. I love you, already. Yes queen. Let’s celebrate. I think you’ll love this.”That was her response after five minutes of talking.
Six years later, and the cute blonde with blue eyes and –as she says– an exquisite rack has become my soul sister.
“Buenas noches, mamacita. Mírate sexy. Ay.” She shakes her hand as if she’s touched fire.
“Eres ridícula, lo sabes,” I reply and she scrunches up her nose.
Someone hasn’t moved beyond basic phrases.
“You’re ridiculous,” I explain. “If you’re gonna go with me to Spain next summer, you better keep studying.”
“Why? I know everything I need to help me scour the beautiful country. Eres soltero?” She holds up one finger and continues to list phrases she’s mastered. “Eres rico. Tu casa o la mía.”
